Jon Franklin’s story “Mrs. Kelly’s Monster” is a captivating description of the delicate precision and suffocating tension of a risky brain procedure.  I think I held my breath throughout the entire piece, as my eyes frantically skirted each line in anticipation of the procedure’s outcome.  Brain surgery does not particularly thrill me and I have a limited knowledge of biology, but this article completely engrossed me in each careful moment of the surgery.

The story, which is told over a period of several hours, begins by describing the brain surgeon’s morning, which includes a breakfast of waffles but no coffee because it makes his hands shake.  Readers are instantly clued in that Dr. Ducker is about to perform a potentially life-altering procedure.

Juxtaposing Dr. Ducker’s morning is that of his future patient’s, Mrs. Kelly, who is being prepped for surgery.  Readers learn about Mrs. Kelly’s “monster,” but do not know what exactly what the name refers to.  In the next few paragraphs, Franklin does a wonderful job of using Mrs. Kelly’s own words to convey the pain and torment she has endured over the years because of this “monster.”

The story’s structure is rooted in Franklin’s declaration of the time, as well as the reading on the heart rate monitor.  It illustrates both the vulnerability of life and the strained passage of time.  With each beep on the heart rate monitor, the woman, despite being unconscious, continues to fight against the “monster” that has disrupted her normal life.

Franklin clarifies technical medical terms, while also providing pretty graphic details about the operation setting. He talks about the smooth, glistening gray brain matter as the surgeon steadily makes a clean cut through the scalp. Although this imagery is not visually appealing, it artificially “slows down” each moment, adding to the anticipation of the procedure.

The dialogue within the operating room and the direct quotes taken from Mrs. Kelly add a more personal element to the sequential flow of the story.  Had the story been told as a step-by-step description of the procedure itself, there would be no sense of humanity attached to the life-altering nature of the situation.  The author made it known that inside the complicated system of arteries and nerves lays the essence of life, and one wrong move could end it in a flash.

I was most impressed by Franklin’s presentation of the struggle for life.  Ironically, the patient is unconscious, yet she is fighting to free herself from the destructive captivity of the monster.  Equally ironic is that the surgeon holds this patient’s life–or, more literally, her brain–in his hands, yet he is deliberate and calm in his very technical approach to the “monster.”

I was slightly disappointed by the ending, probably because I have been conditioned to predict happy endings in all stories.  However, I have to applaud the author for his commitment to reality and honesty; as much as we all want to see a risky procedure be successful and provide an improved quality of life for the patient, more often than not the procedure does not yield such idealistic results.  We must be able to accept the truth for what it is, and acknowledge that even surgeons have their limits when it comes to fighting against nature.

Just reading the article “Can you say…Hero?” by Tom Junod brought back so many memories of my own childhood.  In fact, it even inspired me to jump on YouTube and watch a few Mister Rogers clips for old time’s sake.  And all those warm feelings of security and comfort rushed back.

Junod begins the piece by recalling a memory of his own childhood about a stuffed rabbit that he had thrown out of the car window.  It was through this experience that he realized the value of prayer, which established the main theme of the entire piece.  He invokes the power of storytelling, paralleling how Mister Rogers used to address children in his television program and, we find out, in real life.  Junod even provides simple definitions for words like ophthalmologist and cerebral palsy, also characteristic of Mister Rogers’ patient and understanding nature.

Junod, using the same phrase “Once upon a time” phrase, shares stories of several children whose lives were also touched by Mister Rogers.  Each child faced different obstacles, but the common thread running through all of the stories was the need for someone to give them hope and inspiration; in other words, a new perspective on life.  My favorite story was probably the one about the boy with cerebral palsy who “didn’t like himself very much.”  Mister Rogers asked the boy to pray for him, which renewed the boy’s faith in both life and himself.  It was still pretty early on in the passage, and I believe I had already shed a tear.

Many parts in this piece made me cry, but the part when Mister Rogers was welcomed in New York City by some, ahem, hearty exclamations shall we say (OK, there were curse words involved), I was at first stunned.  I had never thought I would run into an article, or any piece of literature for that matter, that used Mister Rogers and curse words in the same sentence.  Then I continued reading the paragraph and saw how the author intermingled that fairy tale storytelling with those same curse words, and it made me laugh and think, “What a clever way to work that in, but clearly this piece was not intended to be read by children.”  That is unless, of course, there is an edited version.

Junod uses other clever techniques to keep the attention of the reader throughout the rather lengthy piece.  He does a great job at interspersing choppy sentences with rambling ones, which gives his piece more of a children’s story feel.  Sometimes, authors lose readers by using rambling sentences, but I felt like I was actually in the room listening to the conversation Junod was having with Mister Rogers.  This, coupled with the brilliant description, added so much character to the piece, and really reflected Mister Rogers’ personality well.

Towards the end of the piece, Junod makes an important, albeit subtle, distinction between Fred Rogers and Mister Rogers, almost as if they are two separate people.  Fred Rogers is the name he uses to describe the younger version of Mister Rogers, the young boy who lived in the big brick house and decided he wanted to live in Heaven here and now.  Mister Rogers is the man the young boy becomes who asks other people to pray for him and kneels down to whisper words of comfort in children’s ears.  There is still an element of boyhood left in Mister Rogers, as that is what keeps him grounded and gives him insight into the needs of others.  As Junod wraps the story by referring back to his earlier story of Old Rabbit, we see how Mister Rogers brings out the child in all of us.  Sometimes, adults need to be brought down (or maybe up?) to a child’s level in order to really understand the role of faith and courage in life.

Photo by Jesse Dougherty

As a child, I vividly remember watching “Sesame Street” and listening to a song about water. Images of children happily drinking from a playground fountain and throwing around water balloons danced across the screen. The concept of water seemed so innocent then; sure, we realize it as a valuable resource, but do we treat it as such? Do we really comprehend the extent that other people have to go through just to find enough water to survive?

Yesterday, I toured an installation here at Creighton’s Lied Gallery called “Watered Down: An Installation by Matthew Dehaemers.” Dehaemers is a Creighton alumnus and artist who has decided to explore sustainability and the water crisis on a whole new level. Using 3,000 water bottles, several drops of coloring and a digital mock-up, Dehaemers created a giant water wall that depicts an American style advertisement for water. Like most American advertisements, it shows the slightly seductive lips of a woman as she is about to take a sip of water from a bottle. This is commercial America at its finest.

My eyes then shifted to the adjacent wall, where a projector continuously played footage of a group of Ethiopian women mounting rocky terrain with crude jugs weighing them down. And it was at that moment when I saw just how extreme attitudes toward water are throughout the world.

On the one hand, you have people in developed countries who can walk 50 feet to the nearest drinking fountain or vending machine. On the other hand, you have people in third world countries who must walk three miles to the nearest well, which is often filled with tainted water. For them, their daily routines revolve around the search and transport of water.

As evident by my Sesame Street example, we are instilled at a very young age with the concept that water is not a limitless resource.  But it is not until someone, like Dehaemers, comes along with a striking idea to represent these issues that we realize just how severe they are. And that is when we are moved enough to take action.

Journalism, and media in general, acts as a similar agent. Journalists take ideas and situations and transform them into stories readers will care about. We use the vast power of language and structure to grab the attention of readers and make them really think about a story. Sometimes we appeal to emotion, other times we appeal to reason; in the end, however, the goal is still the same: to ignite a reaction within the reader.

I recently finished an article about Dehaemers and his exhibit, and the whole time I was thinking of the best ways to capture my audience’s attention. I did not want readers to just glance at the pretty picture on the page and then put the paper down or flip to the next story. I wanted the readers to read through the entirety of the story, hanging on to every mortifying statistic and insightful quote. I wanted the readers to actively be thinking of the consequences of this water crisis, and what they can do on their end to contribute to improvement efforts.

Just as Dehaemers’ exhibit was a looking-glass that forced people to reflect on their own experiences and decisions, I hope my own writing will evolve into such an instrument as well.

Based on the title of this excerpt, I had no idea what to expect when I began reading it.  At first, it is difficult to determine whether the author, Susan Orlean, is writing the story from the vantage point of a young girl, or if she is just observing the young boy in his quirky mannerisms.  I eventually figured out it is the latter of the two, but I did appreciate the author’s simplistic description of the boy’s behavior.  Her sentence structure is short, even choppy, but it is immensely effective because it sounds like the words coming out of a fifth grader’s mouth.

Orlean also uses language that is very characteristic of a fifth grader.  In her description of the boy, she uses phrases like, “He is ten years old, on the nose,” and then goes on to describe Colin’s obvious physical characteristics in that typical fifth grader recitation.  The description at the beginning is essential, since it paints a very vivid picture of the boy and his friends, right down to Colin’s baseball cap- dented hair.  Besides her own language, Orlean also includes quotes from the boy and his friends.  I found myself laughing out loud at a few of their dialogues, especially the one at the arcade when they discuss the tendency of girls to be mean if they like a boy.  Their words resonate such simplicity, yet they are confident in their conclusions and have developed their own answers to some of life’s hardest decisions.

Orlean does a wonderful job of illustrating the transition stage that every fifth grader must experience.  They are too old for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, yet too young to understand romantic relationships.  They are attempting to understand, and even develop solutions for, world issues like recycling and HIV, yet they still lack a firm grasp of the complications associated with these issues.  Authority, like the directions on the chalkboard, still plays a major role in the students’ lives, yet they are assigned to certain tasks that give them a sense of responsibility and accomplishment in the classroom.  Despite his increasing knowledge of the world, Colin still retains a child-like quality of brutal honesty in his evaluations of others and his surroundings.  He has little fear of being judged, or of how his words may be interpreted, which is a refreshing change from the adult mentality.

Colin is a prime example of a child trying to find his own identity amidst a world dominated by pop culture and worldly possessions.  As much as he is tempted by the lures of commercial marketing campaigns, Colin still has dreams, like moving to Wyoming, that indicate a deeper understanding of what constitutes true happiness.  If only adults could find happiness in feeding a canary or saving up for a trip to Wyoming, we may find that sometimes the simplest things are the most enjoyable and rewarding.

Words can be extremely powerful tools in individual expression.  It isn’t always about what you say, but rather, how you say it.  Writing is an extension of our personalities, and everyone’s writing has a characteristic watermark, whether it is exhibited consciously or subconsciously.  Some writers, like the beloved Dr. Seuss, have an effervescent quality that shrines through their writing.  Other writers, like Edgar Allan Poe, create work of a darker quality, although it can be just as desirable to read.  Experiences often shape our writing styles, as evidenced by Poe’s macabre poems.  Poe dealt with numerous hardships in his young life, including abandonment, and his experiences of neglect and solitude are reflected in his works.  Of course, many other style cateogries exist, and many writings do not fall into just one category.

Personally, I would describe my writing as more technical, since this was the style I was initially taught in school and I have always gravitated toward.  I primarily read articles from The New York Times, Newsweek, and Time, mainly because they cover political and international issues.  Of course, I do try to sneak in some lighter reading like memoirs and Food Network Magazine because my interests, believe it or not, do extend beyond hard news.  I used to journal and write short stories when I was younger, but that eventually tailed off and gave way to research papers and expository essays.  In school, especially in the middle grades, instructors place heavy weight on formal, traditionally structured writing, leaving little room for creative expression.  Perhaps this is why I enjoy journalism so much; it is ultimately rooted in objectivity, yet its creative flare captivates  audiences.  A definite challenge for me will be to overcome the urge to make things sound “technical” or “intelligent,” and just allow ideas to flow freely so as to keep readers engaged.

A drawback to writing, however, is that it does not provide an environment conducive to immediate dialogue with others.  Some people, including me, express certain emotions and ideas better verbally rather than in text.  Collaborating with others and bouncing ideas off of them can actually strengthen someone’s viewpoint.  Sometimes, the interaction associated with face-to-face dialogue can lead to those “light bulb” moments because others can challenge your ideas and provide instant feedback.

I do believe that technological innovation, like social network sites, have facilitated face-to-face dialogue online.  Tools like Skype and iChat literally do mimic face-to-face interaction, but instant messaging, Facebook, and Twitter allow that same rapid exchange.  In fact, these social media tools have actually helped people connect with one another in countries all over the world.  I am particularly intrigued by the diverse perspectives and influences of other cultures and political systems, and these tools encourage that more personal interaction with others on a global scale.

Even before technology, reporters served as a bridge between the people and the events they reported on.  Even though the exchange did not take place as quickly or engage quite as many people in it, reporters nonetheless produced work intended for the mass public. People could read what other people were doing and saying, as well as the consequences of their actions.  Good reporters conduct interviews, ask the hard questions, and really delve deep in their research of a story in an attempt to expose as much as possible to their audience.  The reporting process itself is an exchange and often leads to a reversal of one’s previous assumptions or opens the door to a whole new way of thinking.  I am thrilled to be a small part of it.